Book Reviews: Lines by Leon & The Inyan Beacon

A box full of books Text: Book Reviews

About Lines By Leon

Lines by Leon is an eclectic mix of poetry, prose, and short stories that address the subjects of loss, struggle, human behavior, and environment in both humorous and thought-provoking ways. The author invites his readers to laugh, think, cry, and meditate on the wide variety of topics. Scattered throughout the book are sketches of various subjects, many that relate to the poems and stories they illustrate; others speak for themselves.

Purchase Link: https://www.amazon.com/Lines-Leon-Poems-Prose-Pictures-ebook/dp/B0BQCPP5WW

My Review of Lines By Leon

Lines by Leon, by Leon Stevens is an entertaining collection of creativity that showcases the authors talents in prose, poetr and drawing. The poems are lighthearted and positive, although I did feel a bit of sadness when reading “The Sock”. The drawings are well done, the sketches are amusing, and all offer the reader something to think about in a new or unique way.

It’s brief, but entertaining. One can’t help but smile. I give Lines by Leon four quills.

Four circles with the WordCrafter Quill logo inside

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About The Inyan Beacon

Part science fiction, part spaghetti Western, part speculative fiction, The Inyan Beacon is a short story set in the distant future. Earth’s moon, now called Maka, after a failed terraforming attempt, is the site of a lone stone tower. Tatanka (Tank) Cody, descendant of Buffalo Bill Cody, and his synth companion, Compass are determined to get inside the tower. Although they might not find what Tank is so sure will be there.

Purchase Link: https://www.amazon.com/Inyan-Beacon-Teagan-R%C3%ADord%C3%A1in-Geneviene-ebook/dp/B0C3Z7G2C6/

My Review of The Inyan Beacon

The Inyan Beacon, by Teagan Riordan Geneviene and Dan Antion, is a brief tale that feels like a small piece in a much bigger puzzle. Teagan jumps right into the story, but it takes a moment for the reader to orient. Once there, it is easy to emmerse oneself into the story, but before you know it the tale has come to its conclusion. I think I would have preferred to know what they were looking for a bit sooner to give me a better sense of purpose for the characters. I applaud Geneviene and Antion for providing this story with a beginning middle and end, making it a complete story; something many shorts fail to do.

It caught my interest, but was too short. I wasn’t ready to stop, and would have been willing to follow the characters through to the next adventure. I guess I wanted more. I give The Inyan Beacon four quills.

Four circles with the WordCrafter Quill logo inside

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Kaye Lynne Booth does honest book reviews on Writing to be Read in exchange for ARCs. Have a book you’d like reviewed? You can request a review here.


Mind Fields: The Nature Of Breath

Background: A sunset Text: Mind Fields by Arthur Rosch, Ideas on the Eternal and the Fleeting

The Nature of Breath

Oct 19, 2009

Your breath has a shape

unique

like a fingerprint

no two alike

in all the world.

Everything about you

is found in your breath

all your lives

and deaths,

all your thoughts.

Think of your body

as vanished,

only breath remains

it has an in stop

and an out stop

and contains so much more

than air.

If we could know one another

by our breaths

if we could see the human crowd

as a throng of breaths,

nothing else,

(hello jagged anxious breath

how are you

hello smooth relaxed breath

nice to see you)

the human race is

a breath collective

today some will arrive

today some will depart

lungs are merely homes

like hands fill gloves.

Everything sacred, every dark secret

lives in the breath

and when it leaves your body

for the last time

it is a system of information

like a letter full of you,

air mail, breath mail.

I would tell you more of this

if I knew any more

but this is as far as I’ve got

in learning the nature of breath.

_________________________________________

Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

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Mind Fields: Two Poems Addressing The World’s Violence

Background: A sunset
Text: Mind Fields by Arthur Rosch, Ideas on the Eternal and the Fleeting

Untitiled

There is no excuse for the agony of the world.

There is no excuse for a single person to be starving.

No excuse for anyone to be without a safe home.

No excuse for children to be frightened of invisible menace.

No excuse, no excuse, no excuse.

Anyone who tells you this killing, this maiming,

this bombing is justified,

is revealing a criminal lack of imagination.

There is no excuse to be without a creative idea,

a new way to solve a problem,

no excuse, no excuse.

To be mired in the endless slavery

of historical cause and effect

is no excuse.

To be defending one’s self from oppression

is no excuse.

To be reacting to outside danger

is no excuse.

There is never an excuse

to use violence, not even to prevent greater violence.

Using violence always causes greater violence.

No excuse for the weakness of force,

no justification for violence.

We had to stop Hitler, we have to stop Bin Laden,

is that an excuse? No. Is that an explanation?

Perhaps. Must I live with this explanation?

Evidently.

Must I treat it as a rational solution to any brutality?

Never. There is no excuse.

What can I do about this insoluble problem?

I don’t know. Write poems?

Do you have any better ideas?

If you do, and it is not an excuse

for adding agony to the world,

please, please, tell me, tell everyone

right now.

Letter From The Afterlife Of A Terrorist Bomber

I thought I would be in Paradise

but I am in unspeakable hell.

The fire, the fire!

I thought it would only burn for a second,

but it keeps burning!

I thought I would lose consciousness

and wake up in heaven,

but I am stuck now for an eternity

in agony!

The screams of the innocent dying

are like poisoned darts,

lancing the exposed nerves of my inmost soul.

The tears of the bereaved in their hundreds and thousands

rain upon me like acid.

And the worst hell of all is my regret,

my infinite regret,

that I was so stupid, so gullible, so callous,

so easily swayed by insipid argument,

so readily moved to escape my living depression

by casting it upon others.

The fire, the fire! The rocket fuel

sears me for ten thousand years!

The screams and the grief that blame me, rightly,

crush me under a million tons of leaden metal and concrete!

Allah, Allah, I was not merciful, I was not compassionate,

and now when I call to you I see the grit of your robe

as you turn away from me.

I thought I would awake in Paradise.

What a dreadful dreadful mistake!

___________________________________________________

Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

__________________________________________________________________

Want to be sure not to miss any of Arthur’s “Mind Fields” segments? Subscribe to Writing to be Read for e-mail notifications whenever new content is posted or follow WtbR on WordPress. If you find it interesting or just entertaining, please share.


Book Review: Ever So Gently – A Collection of Poetry

Box of Books Text: Book Reviews

About the Book

In Ever So Gently, Lauren Scott shares her strong link to nature, taking the reader on a tranquil walk through a redwood grove. You’ll find an invitation to sit quietly on a patio, captivated by the simple beauty of a hummingbird. She’ll entice you to revel on the shore of a freshwater lake, mesmerized by its stunning beauty.

Scott shares how love has shaped her life. From that first delicious kiss to celebrating decades of marriage through a love that deepens over time. How her heart melted when she became a mom, then ached when her children started their adult lives across country. And how her adorable canine companions found their way into her heart.

Scott underscores how life presents mysteries we struggle to solve. We can’t help but ponder the deeper meaning of a simple vision. She prompts you to reminisce and reflect on your past, present, and future. Through the ups and downs. what matters most is to love and live ever so gently.

Purchase Link:

My Review

For me, poetry is best enjoyed in print, where I can hold the book in my hands and leaf through the pages, taking in each poem in small doses, and revisting those poems which have sparked further thought in my mind. So, I was tickled to receive a print copy of Ever So Gently: A Collection of Poetry from author Lauren Scott. In this delightful collection, we hear the author’s confident approach to life, feel her inner appreciation of the natural world arond her, and gain insight into value of connection with the people she loves and cares about.

Poetry is so personal, offering a window into the author’s soul, and Ever So Gently does this beautifully. Many of the poems contained within resonated with me on a personal level. As a both nature and animal lover, the vivid images of the cautiously flitting hummingbird, a garden renewed, and beloved pets helped me to feel the moments described within each, as if witnessing or experiencing them.

Messages from the Sea

listen intently

inhale, exhale, feel the calm

your soul will tank you

secrets ride the waves

ebbing, flowing in turquoise

we are not privy

whispers in the surf

ambiguous to discern

relish in their song

_________________________

For Lauren Scott, nature is soothing, healing. I can relate with that as nature is also where I go for solace.

Chilling Embrace

I have been embraced

by the chilling presence

of lonliness.

I have wondered where the niche

designed for me exists in this world

in which my breaths originate.

I have waited for the glow

to emerge behind the shadows.

But when I take that soft step

into the splendor of nature,

listen to the treeswhisper their sagacity,

feel the flowing rivers move my pain,

creating vast distance between it and me,

I have been revived by the compassion

that nature offers so unselfishly.

_____________________________

But my very favorites were the poems in which she expressed her love of the written word, a love that I share, so can relate well with.

Books

Stories, poetry

Compelling, transporting, entertaining

Turning pages is exciting

Paperbacks

______________________________

But my true favorite is the poem that shares the title the book is so aptly named for. In it I see clearly the author’s positive, grounded attitude toward life. A wonderful outlook, to be sure.

Ever So Gently

Sometimes we get lost

in our thoughts…

losing focus of the stars

lighting up the night sky.

We tumble too deeply

into the frontal lobe,

allowing negative thoghts

to awaken, to throw a tantrum.

Remember, the breeze carries

burdens down river

and across oceans,

majestic trees sway with joy,

sheltering from shadows,

and the light shines even if only

a slight glimmer slips through.

Its glow will grow ever so gently

into a bright beacon of hope

rising with the golden sun

bringing clarity to our vision.

____________________________

With her uplifting poetic verse Lauren Scott basks in the earth’s beauty, cherishes loved ones, ponders life’s mysteries. Highly recommended. I give Ever So Gently five quills.

Five circles with WordCrafter quill logo in each one.

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Kaye Lynne Booth does honest book reviews on Writing to be Read in exchange for ARCs. Have a book you’d like reviewed? You can request a review here.


Treasuring Poetry Special Remembrance Month Edition: Poet, Frank Prem, discusses his war poetry #poetrycommunity #warpoetry #TreasuringPoetry

Today, I am delighted to welcome prolific and masterful poet, Frank Prem, back to Treasuring Poetry. Frank writes incredibly relatable poetry that covers a wide variety of topics relevant to modern life including the bush fires that raged in Australia a few years ago, Devil in the Wind, working as a psychiatric nurse in an institution, The New Asylum: A Memoir of Psychiatry, as well as collections about war. I have read Frank’s beautiful and moving collections about World War 1, Sheep on the Somme, and the war in the Ukraine, From Volyn to Kherson: Interpretations of the War in Ukraine. Frank also writes romantic poetry, interpretive modern poetry and verse books for children. In the nicest way, nothing is safe from Frank’s poetic pen.

Tell us a bit about your war poetry collections

I developed an interest in the First World War many years ago and was particularly interested in the stories of Australian soldiers and their seeming need to volunteer to fight half a world away on the basis of loyalty to the British Empire and the Mother Country that was England, but also on the basis of a kind of chivalric principle. A moral fever that swept the nation.

I came across books that were written in the more modern historical style of telling stories to illustrate events – using the example of an identified soldier, from an identified town, with family details and background, then tracing their movements into the war and its various theatres and actions.

I found I was able to understand these individuals a little better and to empathise with them and their loved ones a little more than I otherwise could.

I also found myself interested in using images for my own poetic inspiration and that led me to the images held by Australia’s War Memorial. There was one image in particular that started me looking at pictures taken during the war. The image was of a white cross in a field of muddy and bloody craters. The cross marked the grave of Captain Ivor Margetts, much loved and respected by the men he led in battle. By the following day the cross and the grave were gone. They’d been blown to hell by the shelling.

I was tremendously moved by this, and as I searched for a version of that particular image online, I encountered many more, each with a poignant story to tell and many were destined to feature in my book Sheep On The Somme (https://www.amazon.com.au/Sheep-Somme-World-Picture-Poetry/dp/1925963144 ).

More recently, I found myself watching the sabre rattling over the Ukraine that was being perpetrated by Russia and was reminded very clearly of reading I’d done long ago about the beginnings of the Spanish Civil War back in the late 1930s and of the rise of Right-Wing Fascism in Europe during that same period of the 1930s. I was struck by the similarities and the ways in which those events and movements evolved into what became World War II. It was – and remains – quite concerning to see these way events continue to unfold.

As the news and pictures of Russia’s military build-up on the Ukraine border kept emerging, along with the seeming inability on the part of Ukraine to do anything to stop it, I watched events more and more closely.

When Ukraine’s borders were finally breached, there were more photographers and journalists on the spot than has ever been the case previously in a conflict. We were flooded with formal and informal news and masses of un-curated and un-censored images.

During the first nine weeks of the conflict I became engrossed in reading the news and studying the images. And – of course – I began to write.

I produced 3 volumes of poetry interpreting the Ukraine war – two of them will not be released because they used images taken by journalists in the field and I don’t have rights to use those images. The volumes (Bullets Into The Starichi Sky and I Call The Hole The War) sit on my private bookshelf here in my writing studio.

The third volume – From Volyn to Kherson – is a collection of poems in which I have attempted to use such talent for empathy as I possess to interpret the news stories I was reading in a way that enabled any of my own readers to get a sense of what the invasion and the conflict was like as an experience for the everyday people of Ukraine. What if it happened here, in my town? What would it be like to have seventy kilometres of armoured assault vehicles coming to surround and destroy my home town? Or yours?

I like readers to know where the inspiration for these writings has come from and so each individual poem is referenced and has a link to the online sources that I relied on in my writing. After nine weeks I was a little burnt out and had to stop writing, but I follow events over there diligently and worry about what I see happening in the wider world and which still so resembles the events of the 1930s.

What draws you to writing about wars?

I’ve encroached a little on this question with my answer above, I think, but I’ll try to elaborate a little more.

In my professional life I was a psychiatric nurse. Back (so many years ago) when I was a student nurse one of the areas of interaction with patients that was taught and stressed was empathy.

As I understood it, empathy was the ability to walk in another person’s shoes. To see things from the perspective of the other person, but not to necessarily sympathise, or accept, merely to understand in order to be able to reflect that understanding back to the patient.

The patients that came my way in psychiatry were invariably involved in and generally overwhelmed by personal chaos. This might have been due to illness, or it might have been due their life being in a mess they could not resolve. They might have been psychotic, depressed, suicidal, or experiencing any number of out-of-control situations.

That tool of empathy has stayed with me, I think, and now reveals itself in my writing. The experience of chaos by a person finds itself being reflected back in my writings.

I think it is in this way that I am attracted to attempt to unravel what a person may be feeling or experiencing in a war zone. Similarly, I find myself writing a lot about the human toll of natural disasters that come close to me or to my little place in the world.

I have always tried to develop my understanding of these things by writing my way through them. To help myself and any subsequent reader to understand by feeling what is happening through my words.

Tell us a bit about how you use photographs and newspaper articles to assist with writing your war poems

With newspaper articles, I try to extract the meat of the story. That part of the article that is the actual purpose – the reason that it is a story in the first place.

Often enough, there is human interest in the genesis of the article. I then allow the information to assemble itself in a way that I can present it to a reader. For example

What is grandmother doing in the kitchen? Is she cooking Sunday lunch? No. She is cooking Molotov cocktails for others to throw at invading vehicles. And . . . wouldn’t you or I, each do the same if this was happening in our back yard?

With an image, I anticipate that it will have a story to tell. I try not to impose myself and my own current thoughts or fears or desires on it, but to allow the story to be whatever comes.

For example, a golden paper daisy with a bright glow might well have a story to tell that reflects light, and the sun. But equally, it might be a harbinger – a prophet of some kind that draws attention to itself in order to be heard. I don’t know in advance what the story will be, but I try to keep myself out of its road and not to shape the narrative too much.

I have come to know, also, that each image will have a different story to tell to each viewer, so to the extent that I can, I try to facilitate a receptive space for that to occur through what I end up writing. I’ll give an example of how I find a story in a tiny image taken during wartime over a hundred years ago.

The image above is the view from inside a German army dugout in World War I – around 1916. It is from within this space that a small group of individuals fought their war.

When I look at this image, I notice a few things and I feel a few things. In no particular order:

  • From pitch darkness up into light. A very small doorway.
  • Claustrophobia.
  • Fear.
  • The smell of habitation. Bodily odours – where would the latrine have been?
  • The knowledge of death and destruction and battle rage just outside
  • Movement of the ground as shells fall outside. Perhaps close.
  • Maybe the sound of enemy troops approaching the bunker to destroy it.
  • What of family. Has this soldier (have I) written them a note to say goodbye?

I don’t have a personal experience of war, but I know what fear feels like. I know claustrophobia and the smells of my own body . . . and so on. I can draw on these to understand a little of what the soldier in the dugout might have felt.

The willingness to engage with these elements that come from the image allow me to engage my empathy and to allow a story – which the image itself contains – to be told.

What is your own favourite war poem?

I think that my personal favourite of my own written war poems is one that hasn’t featured in a book to date, but was written to be read for a spoken-word poetry slam 2 years ago. The criteria were that it needed to be 2 minutes reading time or less and to include the term ‘full circle’.

The poem told stories in word pictures and referenced images, without actually including them, if that makes sense. I have since recorded it for my YouTube channel and included there the images that the poem references, spanning both World War I and the current Ukraine war.

The link to the poem on YouTube is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JI3vRaTg0tI .

The text of the poem is below:

THE TRUTH OF TIME

(AS TOLD BY THE PICTURES)

picture 1

a group

of soldiers

are hanging out

of the doors

and windows

of a moving train

leaving Egypt

heading

to the western front

ready

for a stoush

a bit

of a barney

it’s time

to come to grips

with the enemy

and they’re cherry ripe

for a

blue

picture 2

dimitriy

is holding olga –

tightly –
on the platform

a blue train

is nearly ready to leave

she’ll go

to poland

across the border

dimitriy

will join his friends

in the territorials

a week

to practice

how to hold a rifle

and to learn

first aid

then away

he must forget

to be an accountant

he’s

a front-line fighter

now

picture 3

a heap of rubble –

bricks

and half-bricks

timber and concrete

and dust –

lies as a mound

among mounds

it is

a streetscape

an avenue

of homes

destroyed by artillery

a soldier –

rifle

slung over a shoulder –

picks his way

toward camera

there is nothing left

that might hold

use

or meaning

picture 4

the village near kyiv

is a series

of mounds

rubble

that was homes

and houses

a month or so

ago

a woman

is sifting

searching

for something –

anything

that might

have a use

it’s all been destroyed

by missiles

and artillery

she hasn’t found

a lot

that will be helpful

~

pictures

pictures

they won’t

let me sleep

in the night

they shout at me

that we have come

full circle

and the ukraine

is in 1916 all over again

Who is your favourite war poet?

I can’t honestly say I have a favourite war poet, but I have read with a deep sense of connection stories such as All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque with its empathy for the soldiers of the day. Here is the Wikipedia link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Quiet_on_the_Western_Front .

What is your favourite war poem?

I’m aware of many of the great poet writers of the First World War, such as Owen, Sassoon, Brook and Graves, among others, but for my response to this question I have to refer you and readers to a song that I first encountered back when I was a teenager (50 years, who would ever have thought . . .).

The song was performed by a wonderful English Folk ensemble called Steeleye Span, and the song is called Fighting For Strangers. Here is the YouTube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JI3vRaTg0tI

YouTube Links

In addition to the links given above, I would welcome viewers, new followers (if any so desire) comments and feedback on my YouTube Channel, where there a re a number of video readings from my war poetry collections (and natural disasters and psychiatry and others). Click on the link below to be taken along to the Playlists available on the Channel.

https://www.youtube.com/@frankprempoetandauthor726/playlists

Robbie and readers, thanks so much for having me along to chat for November’s Treasuring Poetry post.

My review of From Volyn to Kherson: Interpretations of the War in Ukraine

This book is a ‘hard’ read. It exposes the realities of war; the filth, the noise, the fear, and the destruction and death. No civilian wants war, it is something that is imposed on individuals because of factors outside of the man on the street’s control. Civilians, however, bear the brunt of war as the women lose their husbands and sons. The entire population generally loses its collectively homes, food stability, economic stability, access to sanitation, food, and healthcare. Many countries and populations never recover from wars and their populations become unwanted refugees. The sympathy of the unaffected world shrinks rapidly when wars and the resultant refugees impacts on their economies, making the slices of the economic pie for their own populations smaller.

The war in Ukraine hit me especially hard when I read about the Russian soldiers who froze to death in their tanks. Although the Russians were the instigators and aggressors in this war, many of those young men are the same ages as my own two sons, and their dreadful fate couldn’t fail to stir compassion. Young men frequently have a glamorous and inaccurate picture of war when they enlist or are called up. The realities of war quickly displace these notions but it is already too late.

A few stirring stanzas from this collection of freestyle poems:

From fallen (quietly weeping)
“here it is safe

safe enough
to shed
a tear”

From the metro (is also home)
“let the fear
fall away
for a moment while
the anthem
sounds”

From vasylkiv (is fighting on)
This footnote made me shiver: “People used to think about new car or iphone, but nobody was thinking about peace. Now, we are dreaming of it. When old people used to wish each other peace, we didn’t understand what they meant. Now we do.”

and finally, from in okhtyrka (the tsentral’ne)
“they are preparing
the cemetery now
in okhtyrka

adriy
and his platoon
are gone

vacuum bombed

air taken
out
of them

and then
they died”

This is a beautiful and emotion book of poems that will change the way you view war forever.

You can find out more about Frank Prem here:

You can find out more about Frank Prem on his website here: https://frankprem.com/

and on his wordpress blog here: https://frankprem.wordpress.com/blog/

On amazon US here: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Frank-Prem/author/B07L61HNZ4

About Robbie Cheadle

Photo of Robbie Cheadle standing in front of trees.

Award-winning, bestselling author, Robbie Cheadle, has published fourteen children’s books and two poetry books. Her work also features in several poetry and short story anthologies.

Robbie also has two novels published under the name of Roberta Eaton Cheadle and has horror, paranormal, and fantasy short stories featured in several anthologies under this name.

The eleven Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.

Robbie and Michael Cheadle have recently launched a new series of children’s books called Southern African Safari Adventures. The first book, Neema the Misfit Giraffe is now available from Amazon.

Robbie’s blog includes recipes, fondant and cake artwork, poetry, and book reviews. https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/

You can find example of Robbie Cheadle’s artwork in her art gallery here: https://www.robbiecheadle.co.za/art-gallery/


Book Review: The Hedge Witch & The Musical Poet

A box full of books Text: Book Reviews

About the Book

Book Cover: A girl sitting in trees with eagle flying above on dark background.
Text: The Hedge Witch & The Musical Poet, Poems & Flash Fiction by M J Mallon

The Hedge Witch & The Musical Poet is a collection of poetry and flash fiction celebrating the beautiful vulnerability of the forest kingdom. It begins with the poetic tale of the kind-hearted Hedge Witch, Fern, who discovers an injured stranger in desperate need of her woodland spells and magic.

The sweet pairing learn from each other and through Fern’s guidance, Devin embraces the power of magic to leave behind his troubled past to become The Musical Poet.

Purchase Link: https://www.amazon.com/Hedge-Witch-Musical-Poet-Fiction-ebook/dp/B0B56G2GHT/

My Review

The Hedge Witch & The Musical Poet, by M J Mallon is a lovely poetic collection which forms a lyrical tale of a man found in the forest and transformed, with the help of the Hedge Witch, into the poet the forest needs him to be. This enchanting tale unravels through a combination of flash fiction and poetry which explores magical realms and celebrates the forest. The playful, happy tone makes this tale the perfect short read for a palate cleanser after a more serious story where the fate of the world is at stake, or following a deep dive into the human psyche. It’s also a light story which can be consumed within a half hour or so, if you’ve got some time to kill. I used it as both, since I read it twice.

Delightfully entertaining, I give The Hedge Witch & The Musical Poet five quills.

Five circles with WordCrafter quill logo in each one.

________________________________________________________________

Kaye Lynne Booth does honest book reviews on Writing to be Read in exchange for ARCs. Have a book you’d like reviewed? You can request a review here.


Treasuring Poetry – Meet the poet, Merril D Smith, and a book review #poetry #poetrycommunity #bookreview

Two giraffes nuzzling each other in background.
Text: Treasuring Poetry 2023 with Writing to be Read and Robbie Cheadle, "Poetry is when an emotions has found its thought and the thought has found words." Robert Frost

Today, I am delighted to welcome talented poet, Merril D Smith as my October Treasuring Poetry guest. Merril has recently launched River Ghosts, a beautiful book of poetry which I have reviewed below.

Tell me a bit about your poetry collection, River Ghosts. What inspired the poetry in this book? Does it have a particular theme?

I had submitted a chapbook to Nightingale & Sparrow Press, which was longlisted, but ultimately not chosen for publication. The editor gave me some positive feedback, and I decided I would submit a full-length manuscript the following year. Of course, I did not expect a pandemic, nor that my mom would die from it in April 2020 during the first wave and lockdown. By that time, she was in a nursing home, and we were not allowed to be with her. I compiled River Ghosts in the months after her death with some already written poems—some published—and some new poems.

I walk by the Delaware River nearly every morning. Sometimes I go to a nearby park, which is also a historic battle site. The battle took place during the American Revolution, and there is an eighteenth-century house there. Recently, they’ve found more remains of soldiers—Hessians who fought for the British. If ghosts exist, I think they are at rivers, which carry so much history, and because of the battle and soldiers killed, I imagine them here.

So, the collection’s title comes from my musings about rivers and ghosts, including the ghosts of memory. However, I don’t think River Ghosts is all about sadness and grief by any means! I also want to mention that my older child, Jay Smith, designed the cover art, and the book is dedicated to my mother’s memory.

Do you do a lot of editing of your poetry or does the poem manifest itself fully formed?

That really depends. I nearly always do some editing, even for poems written for prompts. Sometimes, I go back to poems though, and I revise them.  Then again, I’ve had some poems published that I pretty much wrote and sent off.

What do you find to be the most effective way of sharing your poetry with fellow poetry lovers?

I don’t know about effective. I suppose more people read my poetry on my blog, especially in response to a prompt, than anywhere else. I’ve also shared poems on Twitter /X for Top Tweet Tuesday (run by Black Bough Poetry), and I’ve read at some online open mics.

Do you think poetry is still a relevant form of expressing ideas in our modern world? If yes, why?

I think it’s relevant. I think I’ve read there’s been an upsurge in poetry, both reading and writing. Perhaps that’s because of social media and Covid lockdowns. I think most people enjoy poetry, especially if it’s read. For example, so many people were energized by Amanda Gorman’s reading of her poem, “The Hill We Climb,” at the inauguration of President Joe Biden in 2021. She is the youngest poet to have read a poem at a US presidential inauguration, and she is also an activist.

Which of your own poems is your favorite and why?

I don’t have a favorite anything—book, movie, song, or poem– it depends on my mood.  But I will share one of my favorites from River Ghosts. “Moon Landing” was originally published by Black Bough Poetry.

Moon Landing

On that warm July night,

my father watched moonstruck

as Neil Armstrong took his giant leap.

I remained firmly earthbound,

watching our new puppies in the TV screen light,

their small black and white bodies tumbling,

stepping hesitantly into their futures.

Now—ensorcelled by moon-glow—

I plummet back, landing my time-rocket

on the rocky surface of memory.

Which poem by any other poet that you’ve read, do you relate to the most and why?

Again, I can’t say there is any poem that I relate to the most. I like many different types of poetry.

I think this is the poem I wish I had written. You will see in a way it’s connected to the poem of mine that I shared. “My God, It’s Full of Stars” is by Tracy K. Smith, who was US Poet Laureate, and who won a Pulitzer Prize for her collection Life on Mars.

My God, It’s Full of Stars by Tracy K. Smith

We like to think of it as parallel to what we know,

Only bigger. One man against the authorities.

Or one man against a city of zombies. One man

Who is not, in fact, a man, sent to understand

The caravan of men now chasing him like red ants

Let loose down the pants of America. Man on the run.

Man with a ship to catch, a payload to drop,

This message going out to all of space. . . . Though

Maybe it’s more like life below the sea: silent,

Buoyant, bizarrely benign. Relics

Of an outmoded design. Some like to imagine

A cosmic mother watching through a spray of stars,

Mouthing yesyes as we toddle toward the light,

Biting her lip if we teeter at some ledge. Longing

To sweep us to her breast, she hopes for the best

While the father storms through adjacent rooms

Ranting with the force of Kingdom Come,

Not caring anymore what might snap us in its jaw.

Sometimes,  what I see is a library in a rural community.

All the tall shelves in the big open room. And the pencils

In a cup at Circulation, gnawed on by the entire population.

The books have lived here all along, belonging

For weeks at a time to one or another in the brief sequence

Of family names, speaking (at night mostly) to a face,

A pair of eyes. The most remarkable lies.

          2.

Charlton Heston is waiting to be let in. He asked once politely.

A second time with force from the diaphragm. The third time,

He did it like Moses: arms raised high, face an apocryphal white.

Shirt crisp, suit trim, he stoops a little coming in,

Then grows tall. He scans the room. He stands until I gesture,

Then he sits. Birds commence their evening chatter. Someone fires

Charcoals out below. He’ll take a whiskey if I have it. Water if I don’t.

I ask him to start from the beginning, but he goes only halfway back.

That was the future once, he says. Before the world went upside down.

Hero, survivor, God’s right hand man, I know he sees the blank

Surface of the moon where I see a language built from brick and bone.

He sits straight in his seat, takes a long, slow high-thespian breath,

Then lets it go. For all I know, I was the last true man on this earth. And:

May I smoke? The voices outside soften. Planes jet past heading off or back.

Someone cries that she does not want to go to bed. Footsteps overhead.

A fountain in the neighbor’s yard babbles to itself, and the night air

Lifts the sound indoors. It was another time, he says, picking up again.

We were pioneers. Will you fight to stay alive here, riding the earth

Toward God-knows-where? I think of Atlantis buried under ice, gone

One day from sight, the shore from which it rose now glacial and stark.

Our eyes adjust to the dark.

Continue reading here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/55519/my-god-its-full-of-stars

Here is the last part of the poem with a reading by Tracy K. Smith:

My God, It’s Full of Stars

My review of River Ghosts

River Ghosts is the perfect name for this beautiful collection, which gives the reader glimpses into the poet’s life in the present, shadowed by memories, and coloured by traditions and behaviours passed down by her parents, and the ancestors that came before them. It is, in essence, an insight into the factors that make the poet who she is, and that have shaped her thoughts, ideas, and actions.

I found the ideas of loss contained in this book, interwoven with the concepts of long-lasting memories and loved ones living on through us, their offspring, compelling and delightful. For me, it made the overwhelming thought of the losses that must come, more bearable. Love, and the family traditions and behaviours we continue to honour, and pass down to our own children and grandchildren, bind us strongly to those who came before and to those who will come after. I love that idea.

A few examples of beautiful stanzas and/or lines:

“a tiny glove in the street,
the small hand grows colder

now unclasped from a larger one.”
From Observe, And Again

Above and about, dreams soar –
I pluck one from a thousand –
of red petals crushed beneath rocks
after a storm, like blood drops growing, glowing”
From Almost, and Never

“Once some brilliant star breathed time
in the after-wake of explosion and danced across a universe
exploring eternity”
From And If Always Lives

This poetry collection is a wonderful investment of time and mental energy.

River Ghosts Amazon US purchase link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09WZ8F9XJ

About Merril D. Smith

Merril D. Smith is a poet living in southern New Jersey. Her work has been published in poetry journals and anthologies, including Black Bough Poetry, Acropolis, Anti-Heroin Chic, The Storms, Fevers of the Mind, Humana Obscura, and Nightingale and Sparrow. She holds a Ph.D. in American history from Temple University in Philadelphia and is the author/editor of numerous books on gender, sexuality, and history. Her full-length poetry collection, River Ghosts (Nightingale & Sparrow Press) was Black Bough Poetry’s December 2022 Book of the Month. 

Twitter: @merril_mds 

Instagram: mdsmithnj 

Blog: merrildsmith.org

US Amazon Link for River Ghosts: https://www.amazon.com/River-Ghosts-Merril-D-Smith/dp/B09WZ8F9XJ

UK Link: https://www.amazon.co.uk/River-Ghosts-Merril-Smith-ebook/dp/B09XKLDG6Q


Treasuring Poetry: Meet poet, Selma Martin, and a review of her poetry book, In The Shadow of Rainbows: A Collection of Songs of Presence

Today I am delighted to introduce poet, Selma Martin, who has just published a beautiful book of poetry entitled In The Shadow of Rainbows.

Selma has started her interview with a quote and a truly lovely commentary about my book, Lion Scream. I have included it because it is so kind of Selma to have written it, and I appreciate her comments and review a great deal, but please remember that this post is about Selma and her poetry and gorgeous book.

Poems are made by fools like me

But without support, I’ve nowise to be 

Robbie, you’ve no idea how much my enthusiasm level has risen just at the thought of being here with you for this interview. I’m truly honored. And I wish to begin by telling you that I respect you all the more after completing your lovely poetry collection, Lion Scream which I read from start to finish several times. What a lovely book you blessed the world with, Robbie. May we all continue to find grace and compassion in books that enlighten our optimistic approach to everything our world is experiencing at the moment. As someone once wrote, the solutions are there when the problems are recognized. I think that collectively we’ve come to recognize that we have a big problem. So it’s my sincere hope that in this lifetime we figure out where we should put our collective efforts. Your book provides a venue to initiate constructive markers of where we need to start. And together work to narrow the gap between our two realities. Yes, there are two realities: 

  1. Objective reality – “the world out there.” The world of your senses
  2. Subjective reality – “the world in here.”  The world of our minds; the world of emotions and feelings–composed of thoughts, opinions and judgments, and emotions.

I stand by what I wrote on Amazon: Your book is a must-read!

Now onto the questions that I’m ever so happy to respond to:

You have recently released your first poetry collection, In the Shadow of Rainbows. What inspired the poetry in this book? Does it have a particular theme?

SELMA: Inspiration waits for us at every corner, and one is always hoping that it will pat us on the shoulder and remain with us for the duration of the journey. For me, it got a nudge after I completed my 60th trip around the sun. Nothing is more inspiring than realizing that I have lived more life than I have left to live. This is the truth. And the only gauge I went by with my collection was to amass sixty poems.  Well, I wrote more than sixty, thinking that a few wouldn’t make the cut but my editor, Ingrid Wilson of Experiments in Fiction allowed me a little more than sixty; sixty-four resulted. I am grateful. 
As I mentioned in the book, I set sail without a strict theme but kept the faith that one would appear. That of shadows was so strong that at one point I fancied naming the collection Shadows, Whispers, and Echoes. But then, as I mention in the book, an old memory of finding rainbows on my eyelashes acted as my rudder and so there you have it: In The Shadow of Rainbows. I think the title fits the theme so well. Deep bow to my editor. Deep bow to my cover photographer.

Picture caption: The cover of Selma’s book, In the Shadow of Rainbows. I agree that it is very beautiful.

Do you do a lot of editing of your poetry or does the poem manifest itself fully formed?

SELMA: Oh my, let me quote from a haiku from Tachibana Genjiro(1665-1718): I write, erase write, erase again, and then a poppy blooms.
It’s a lot of writing, deleting, and rewriting indeed. And even after my poppy blooms I still find incidents where I wish to start over. So, yes, I do lots of editing; and no, so far no poem has ever manifested itself fully formed for me. 

What do you find to be the most effective way of sharing your poetry with fellow poetry lovers?

SELMA: Writing and sharing my work here on WordPress is the only way I know and feel comfortable sharing my work with other poetry lovers. I’m fully aware that there are other online magazines where I can share my work, but for some reason, I hold back from going the distance because sometimes I don’t feel deserving enough. Or perhaps it is that I need to feel a connection to my readers like I’ve begun to feel with my readers here on WordPress? 
Also, there is the issue of time and timing. I never want to overdo it; I think we need variety, and so I refrain from posting even on my website at times. 
At the moment, I’ve created a beautiful respectful relationship with the Editor of Masticadores USA, Barbara Leonhard, and so I sometimes submit my work there. I’m so grateful that Barbara helps me to reach other audiences and I’m working hard to jump on the bandwagon the next time someone calls for submissions to an anthology that fits my writing.

Do you think poetry is still a relevant form of expressing ideas in our modern world? If yes, why?

Poetry is not new–we know this. It’s the oldest, or at least one of the oldest forms of intimate expressions we humans have had. In today’s fast-paced society, the extraordinary value of the word hasn’t diminished. (Take that, emojis) and we humans will never be irreverent to this art form. Poetry will always rank high in relevance as long as there exist people like you and me. Me think so. 

Which of your own poems is your favorite and why?

Oh, no no no. I don’t have a favorite; I like them all, really I do! But I will share one and honestly hope you find it to your taste. 

Slice of Life

Flanked between two wanings, I live you,

planting the light hours with loving acts,

for you, for us, for our ménage,

and when I meet the dusk, filled,

ready for our mingling at the table,

where we swap slices of lived moments

of the same day, hearts swell replete.

I chose one of the shortest poems in the collection to share with you. It’s strategically placed as the penultimate poem in the book, and I’m happy to elucidate on this poetry form that touched me. 
In its true form, it’s a Kwansaba poem, an African-American verse form of praise: a praise poem that celebrates family. The Kwansaba (Swahili kwan -first fruit/saba -principle) was created in 1995 by Eugene B. Redmond, East St. Louis Poet Laureate and professor of English at Southern Illinois University-East St. Louis. The form was developed in honor of the celebration of Kwanzaa. The poetic form adopts the number 7 from Kwanzaa’s Nguzo Saba (7 principles) as well as embraces its roots in the South African tradition of the Praise Poem. 
The 7 principles of Kwanzaa are unity, self-determination, collective work and responsibility, cooperative economics, purpose, creativity, and faith. Each day of the celebration focuses on one of the principles. Isn’t this just such a beautiful principle? I think it is, as all the principles take off at unity which starts at the family level. 

I wrote it originally for a dVerse prompt in December 2021–then, I abbreviated some words to meet the exact count of sevens but changed it a bit for clarity to include in the book. It’s about family, and I hope you like it. 

Which poem by any other poet that you’ve read, do you relate to the most and why?

SELMA: Oh, you got me on this question again, Robbie. There are so many poems to choose from. And I relate to them when I read them. Indeed it’s like asking which is your favorite color today or your favorite sunset… but I will share one of the poems I like.  As to why this poem, I dare say it’s because I love it when we enter this season. Also, I adore the poet’s style and the vernacular he uses in this gorgeous poem. I found it on Poetry Foundation to share here with you. Take a look: 

When the Frost is on the Punkin

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY (1849–1916) When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! …
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
***
I love love love this poem. Golly, Robbie, I hope you liked it too.

My review of In The Shadow of Rainbows by Selma Martin

A most enjoyable collection of poems that seeks to find the upliftment, or silver lining, in the ordinary and everyday experiences of people, including the poet herself. The poems acknowledge human failings and short comings but attempt (successfully I thought) to put them into perspective and find the happiness and joy in life despite the imperfections humans, as a species, tend to exhibit when faced with challenges and dealing with experiences, both good and bad.

A few short quotations from some of my favourite poems in the collection are as follows:

“perfect specimens
of imperfection
you and I” from Give Back

“When death comes
I want to be led into eternity
curious, full of joy” from When Death Comes

“One fine day, I recognized the smell of summer,
the languid air of the somnolent noon,
so I rose and walked away from the wheelchair
hands outstretched, to the hollycocks there.” from Angel August

All of us experience ups and downs in life. Anything that can help us find perspective thereby gaining understanding and solace, is worth embracing. This book does that and is an inspired and inspiring read.

About Selma Martin

Selma Martin is a retired English teacher with 20 years of teaching children ESL. She believes in people’s goodness and in finding balance in simple living. She lives in Japan with her husband of thirty-three years. In 2018, Selma participated in a networking course whose final lesson was to publish a story on Amazon. After many failed attempts, she completed the course and self-published her short story, Wanted: Husband/Handyman, in 2019. Later, collaborating with peers from that course, she published Wanted: Husband/Handyman in an anthology, Once Upon A Story: A Short Fiction Anthology. Selma has published stories on Medium for many years, in MasticadoresUSAThe Poetorium At StarlightShort Fiction Break, and Spillwords. After her first NaPoWriMo 2021, Selma writes poetry on her website, selmamartin.com, and in July 2023, published a debut poetry collection on Amazon
You can find Selma, selmawrites, on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. But if you wish to engage and create a meaningful interaction with Selma: add value, nurture trust, and share engaging content from the ordinary perspective of someone navigating life in today’s fast-paced culture, you may join her once-a-month pen pal newsletter

Other ways of contacting Selma

 EMAIL: selma@selmamartin . com OR selmagogowrites@gmail .

INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/selmawrites/ 

TWITTER/X: https://twitter.com/SelmaWrites

About Robbie Cheadle

Photo of Robbie Cheadle standing in front of trees.

Award-winning, bestselling author, Robbie Cheadle, has published thirteen children’s book and three poetry books. Her work has also appeared in poetry and short story anthologies.

Robbie also has two novels published under the name of Roberta Eaton Cheadle and has horror, paranormal, and fantasy short stories featured in several anthologies under this name.

The ten Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.

Robbie’s blog includes recipes, fondant and cake artwork, poetry, and book reviews. https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/


I Still Have Ideas In My Mindfield

A beautiful sunset.
Text: Mind Fields by Arthur Rosch, Ideas on the Eternal and the Fleeting

Untitled

I don’t’ want to write a poem.

I want to climb the nearest hill and stand

there, mute.  Inside myself I will be screaming at the shape

of the world.  Outside: nothing.  Silence. 

I won’t write a poem.  I will hold my tongue.

Ukraine is flaming but there is music and art in Kiev. Wars hate poems.  Poets hate wars.

On top of the hill I howl in silence

at the awful suffering. 

No poem necessary.  In the face of this calamity poetry is silly.

If war is poetic then explosions are its vowels.  (It’s hard

to make that language work.)  An explosion/poem will not detonate here

any time soon.

Clouds

Every day

the clouds change shape.

They change color, size, patterns, density,

Every day.  I can’t help but wonder

that I’m not blasted from my body

by such beauty

painting the sky forever.

How can I see this and continue\

without bowing to the majesty of it,

the creation of a world above our heads

that heralds the appearance of night’s beads

as they are strung onto the circlet of the dark.

About the Author

Author Arthur Rosch

Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

______________________________________________

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Treasuring Poetry – Meet poets, bloggers, and writers, Emily Gmitter and Zoe the Fabulous Feline, and a review #TreasuringPoetry #Poetrycommunity #review

Today, I am delighted to welcome Emily Gmitter and her amazing writing cat, Zoe, to Treasuring Poetry. This is the first time I’ve interviewed such an interesting duo for this series and it has been a fabulous experience.

Welcome Emily and Zoe

I’d like to thank Robbie for inviting me and my co-author, Zoe the Fabulous Feline, to be guests on her lovely Treasuring Poetry blog. We’re happy to be here with her and all of you wonderful poets! Zoe says “hello” too—she’s waving her paw at the screen.

Is writing poetry easier for you compared to prose or do you do a lot of editing and revision of your poems?

While my initial writing efforts focused on poetry, and specifically, syllabic poetry, now I more often write short stories. However, poems or snippets of rhyme frequently find their way into my stories. My brain seems wired for rhyme, so if something comes to me, I don’t ignore it. But, to give you the short and direct answer to your question: I edit my prose far more than I do my poetry.

If I may elaborate, there is a distinct difference between the poet I thought I was back in the day, and the writer I hope I am today. Writing prose came much later in my life—that is, if you don’t count my very first short story, written in fourth grade, about a letter that was afraid of the dark. The story starts with a mom asking her daughter to take a letter to the mailbox. Just as the child is pulling the handle of the mailbox down and bringing the letter up to the opening, the letter starts to squirm and squeal in fear. It begs the child to not do it: “Please don’t drop me into the dark!” The child is startled, of course, but before she can say or do anything, the letter grows arms and legs and runs away. And that’s all I remember about that!

Getting back to your question … I’d add that, while I do edit my poetry, it seems most of my poems haven’t required heavy revision. I might tweak a word or two to keep the meter consistent or create an inner rhyme. Sometimes I’ve made an edit to deliberately include an alliterative phrase. But that’s about it. So I think syllabic poetry—unlike free verse—has always come easily to me. And it’s gotten easier as I’ve gotten older, or perhaps my personal bar has gotten lower. With my prose, though, it’s a far different story. The editing seems never-ending, but of course, at some point, you have to call it done.

I alluded to free verse; writing poetry in that style is not my forte, and has never been. Every once in a blue moon, something comes to me in that form, and usually it’s very short. (There is one example of that in my book, called “Soul Buddies.”) Free verse is much harder for me to write. I enjoy it, and I envy those who can create it, but it’s never come naturally to me. When I try to write it, it feels contrived. In one sense of the word, contrived is a positive thing; it’s what all writers do, right? We deliberately create a written piece; we calculate where to place an adjective, we assess whether a near-rhyme works well or at all. And on and on. So, contrived is not a dirty word. But it does have a negative sense, as well. When I find myself digging too deeply for words to convey what I wish to, the result sometimes feels forced and phony. I usually end up balling up the paper and aiming for the wastepaper basket. And that’s happened more times than I care to remember. I’ll leave free verse to those who can actually create it and spend my time enjoying the beauty of their creations.

Today I find that a poem is either there or it’s not. I most enjoy creating poetry when the words flow naturally. That feels like a gift. I write it down, and I leave it alone.

What mode (blog, books, YouTube, podcasts) do you find the most effective for sharing your poems with poetry lovers and readers?

I incorporated my poems into my newly released book and, while I’m not sure of its effectiveness over alternative modes, I really enjoyed using my poetry to mix up the flavor of the book. I also share my poetry (as well as my short stories and artwork) on social media.

Now, Zoe is more clever than I, or perhaps I should say, she’s a bit less technically challenged than I. She’s on Facebook, too, but she also posts on her The Life & Times of Zoe the Fabulous Feline blog. (A bit contrived if you ask me. To which Zoe just said, “Who’s asking you?”) Speaking of the little imp, she would like to say something. And I think I should be afraid.

Hi, Robbie, it’s me, Zoe the Fabulous Feline! I just wanted to point out something Emily neglected to tell you, which is that my poems are also in our book. Sheesh! Well, at least she gave me credit for my blog. My short stories sometimes include poetry, and I share my short stories on my social media pages. I did write one story completely in syllabic rhyme, which is in our book; it’s called “Zoe and Friends’ Strange Adventure.” It’s too long to include here,, so I’ll just summarize it for you:

A magic hat flies me and a couple of friends on a journey to different lands, one ruled by an evil dictator, and another led by a kind and compassionate old soul—the latter a land where a White Mist relays to us a message of hope and love. We return home with a new perspective.

I’m quite proud of that story-poem. (Story-poem might not be the right, or even a valid, term, but Emily would not let me say “epic poem”; she said I would sound terribly “arrogant.” I’m not even sure what that means, but it does not sound good.) About other modes for our writings: I’ve considered a podcast, but when I’d previously tried to teach Emily how to set up her own blog, that did not go well. Still, I took a chance and mentioned to her that I’d like her assistance with doing a “PodCAT” (a podcast for cats only). Well, I had to practically pick her up off the floor. So I took pity on her and did not push the idea. Anyway, I’m busy enough already. I’ll hand the baton back to Emily at this time and will be back if any other question catches my attention. Ciao for now!

Do you think poetry is still a relevant form of expressing ideas in our modern world? If yes, why?

Yes, I do, because poetry is a window into our souls. Poets write from the heart, and because people are multi-faceted creatures, and because there is so much going on around us all the time, there is no end to the food that will feed a poet’s imagination. Relevance abounds!

And then we have that other class of poets who are relevant in our modern world—the songwriter. Songwriters write lyrics that tell their own stories but also often speak to all our lives. Some artists may stick with the typical love song and/or love-gone-wrong song, and others may risk commercial success for at least occasionally penning songs that speak truth to power. In the latter category, the words of Kris Kristofferson come to mind. His diverse catalog includes every kind of song imaginable, from love songs to humor to satire, from the bittersweet of love and loss to the blessings bestowed on us by a higher power. He also writes biting, politically charged, contemporary songs; just one example of Kristofferson’s many topical tunes is an older one, called “In the News.” (A word of caution: Based on real life events, these lyrics are not easy to read.)

In the News

Read about the sorry way he done somebody’s daughter
Chained her to a heavy thing and threw her in the water
And she sank into the darkness with their baby son inside her
A little piece of truth and beauty died

Burning up the atmosphere and cutting down the trees
The billion dollar bombing of a nation on its knees
Anyone not marching to their tune they call it treason
Everyone says God is on his side

See the lightning, hear the cries
Of the wounded in a world in Holy war
Mortal thunder from the skies
Killing everything they say they’re fighting for

Broken babies, broken homes
Broken-hearted people dying everyday
How’d this happen, what went wrong
Don’t blame God, I swear to God I heard him say

Not in my name, not on my ground
I want nothing but the ending of the war
No more killing, or it’s over
And the mystery won’t matter anymore

Broken dreamers, broken rules
Broken-hearted people just like me and you
We are children of the stars
Don’t blame God, I swear to God he’s crying too

Not in my name, not on my ground
I want nothing but the ending of the war
No more killing, or it’s over
And the mystery won’t matter anymore

Read about the sorry way he done somebody’s daughter
Chained her to a heavy thing and threw her in the water
And she sank into the darkness with their baby son inside her
A little piece of truth and beauty died

~ Kris Kristofferson ~ (In the News – YouTube)

It would be hard to be any more relevant in our modern world than that.

Which of your own poems is your favorite and why?

Oh, this is a tough one! I have favorites in different categories. If we’re talking humorous, “The Spider” is my favorite. I understand some will not find the killing of insects to be a humorous topic, but I have a serious bug phobia, so perhaps I will be forgiven.

The Spider

There you were on my wall the other day,

It wasn’t easy for me, but I let you go on your way.

Soon you were out of sight, but not out of mind,

For I need to know where you are at all times.

I needn’t have worried,

Soon enough you were back.

And busily building a translucent track.

Can’t spare you again, you should’ve stayed gone.

But no, you had to come back and build a new home.

And now, Lord have mercy, I feel bad, it’s a sin,

But when it comes down to your home or mine—mine wins.

My favorite poem of poignancy is “Unjust Desserts.” And for a fun read, I would choose “Nashville-Rainbow Style,” because it tells the story of a most memorable vacation with a bunch of my musician friends. And finally I—

Helloooo, this is Zoe again. I mean, I love Emily, but she sure can go on and on sometimes. Here is a little ditty I wrote as the ending to my short story entitled “Zoe the Poet.” The publisher liked it so much, he insisted on including it in our book, and that’s why it’s my favorite.

Zoe the feline just checking in

To bring you a laugh, a tear, or a grin.

The stories I give you, they come from within,

Except when they come from without.

Please note: With that poem, I answered the question of poetry relevance, too … saying in four lines what Emily said in four paragraphs.

Why do you write poetry?

It’s a good question. You could just as well ask why do I write prose? Both art forms paint images with words, and I equate words with power. Power to evoke emotions both positive and negative, power to entertain. And that’s what poetry is all about.

I love words! And I love to have fun with them. So my love of the English language is why I write anything at all. It’s also a way to communicate with others, a way of expressing myself without censoring myself, which I tend to do in oral communications. That’s the short and sweet answer to this question. As Zoe so kindly pointed out, I can go on and on, so if this satisfies, that’s cool. But I will say a few things more for those who like to read on and on.

As previously mentioned, my first writings of so many moons ago consisted entirely of poetry. But the truth is, these days I don’t set out to write poetry. These days, my creative endeavors have centered on prose and painting instead. However, I do still dip my toes in the pools of poetry every so often. Because of my love for language, I make a concerted effort to take advantage of the various forms of writing tools, such as alliteration, which adds interest to a piece, especially when it’s subtle—when it slips easily into the ear the way an old, well-worn glove slides over one’s hand.

Some short stories and all songs are poetry. In the short story category, flash fiction comes to mind, and especially those restricted-word-count story challenges; those can be poetry of the highest order. In word-challenge stories, one must use language in a very efficient yet meaningful way. When every word has to count, the result is often a rhythmic cadence that shouts “I am poetry!” I wrote the following in response to a 79-word challenge story. I may be biased but, to my mind, it is nothing if not poetic.

Letting Go

No shame in letting go. The freedom of the fall was stronger than her sister’s hand. They were having a passionate discussion. A decade separated the sisters. Their differences, strengthened over every day of each of those years, became more apparent as the discussion threatened to explode. The younger sister stood firm against the fire of her older sister’s fears. She knew it came from love, as surely as she knew she would survive the freedom of letting go.

My early poems came from a place of typical teen-age angst, most often fairly short expressions of whatever was on my mind at the time. Looking back at some of those now… well, I won’t say I’m embarrassed, exactly; I never planned for anyone to read them. But I am, at the least, amused at having taken myself so seriously back then. This might be the first poem I ever wrote. Needless to say, Growing Old did not make it into my book!

Growing Old

My brain is numb,

My heart is cold.

I must be dead,

Or am I old?

Was I describing my youthful thoughts on senility, dementia, growing old in general? Most likely the latter—the concept of aging in general—but the former shows that I had no real sense or kind thoughts about what it meant to be old. Clearly, I was not going to age gracefully!

Many of us younger folks had some angst about our elders—you know, those folks over thirty years of age and considered part of the establishment. Everybody expressed it in their own way. One of my earlier poems relays how I envisioned our world if nuclear powers were to lose their senses. It’s too long to include in this interview (it’s in my book), but here’s a stanza that shows the basic theme of the poem:

The Future of the Child

“What shall I be, Dad, when I grow up?”

Looking toward the future, an eager young pup.

“Anything you want, Son,” you say with a smile.

And secretly pray for the future of the child.

So, that was then, when I set out to write poetry. And this is now when I don’t. “Soul Buddies” is one of those short, free-verse poems that gave birth to itself without any help from me.

Soul Buddies

I found you so easily, where I found you,

not because you are predictable,

but because you go where I go.

You are where I am.

Worlds apart in time, bound by soul.

And that is my long answer to your question, Robbie. And to anyone who has read this far, thank you!

Which poem by any other poet that you’ve read, do you relate to the most [please provide the poem or a link to the poem] and why?

So many speak to me that it’s hard to choose the one that speaks the loudest. The volume also seems to change depending on my mood at any given time. But, at the top of my list of poets are Kris Kristofferson and Gibran Khalil Gibran. You might think Kris and Khalil is a strange pairing, but when you read the lyrics written by Kris and the poems written by Khalil, you see that both write poetry that hits you in your heart. Poetry that makes you wonder how they knew your innermost feelings.

Shel Silverstein is another genius I admire. His body of work is relatable, his sense of humor is bound to give the reader a new perspective on this crazy little thing called life. A well-known author of children’s books and poetry collections, his poems appear funny and light-hearted, and they are. But most contain considerable substance, as well. I really love “Put Something In simply because it’s a great message, and not just for children.

I relate to this one a lot, at least partly because it speaks to the artist I fancy is in there somewhere, and the child I pray is still in there somewhere.

Put Something In

Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-grumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
‘Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain’t been there before.

~ Shel Silverstein ~

But you asked which one poem I relate to the most. I would choose this one by Gibran Khalil Gibran, called “Do Not Love Half Lovers.” In this poem, Khalil takes two simple idioms we’ve probably all heard all our lives (Live life to the fullest and Do it well or not at all) and presents them in a poetic fashion that is brilliant. This piece is accessible and contains valuable advice, yet is so mundane that it cannot help but be universal. I feel as though he was in my head when he wrote it. Who hasn’t, at one time or another, found themselves exhibiting such negative or self-damaging behaviors? Who hasn’t, at one time or another, felt only half alive?

One might say this poem reminds them that life is too short to live it only halfway. Others might say life is too long.

Do Not Love Half Lovers

Do not love half lovers
Do not entertain half friends
Do not indulge in works of the half talented
Do not live half a life
and do not die a half death
If you choose silence, then be silent
When you speak, do so until you are finished
Do not silence yourself to say something
And do not speak to be silent
If you accept, then express it bluntly
Do not mask it
If you refuse then be clear about it
for an ambiguous refusal is but a weak acceptance
Do not accept half a solution
Do not believe half truths
Do not dream half a dream
Do not fantasize about half hopes
Half a drink will not quench your thirst
Half a meal will not satiate your hunger
Half the way will get you no where
Half an idea will bear you no results
Your other half is not the one you love
It is you in another time yet in the same space
It is you when you are not
Half a life is a life you didn’t live,
A word you have not said
A smile you postponed
A love you have not had
A friendship you did not know
To reach and not arrive
Work and not work
Attend only to be absent
What makes you a stranger to them closest to you
and they strangers to you
The half is a mere moment of inability
but you are able for you are not half a being
You are a whole that exists to live a life
not half a life

~ Gibran Khalil Gibran ~

********

Well, I think I better stop here, Robbie. Zoe and I thank you again for this opportunity to take part in such a fun feature!

Thank you, Emily and Zoe, for being such entertaining guests.

Happiness is a Warm Cat by Emily Gmitter and Zoe the Fabulous Feline

Blurb

In Happiness is a Warm Cat, author Emily Gmitter and her feline friend, Zoe, serve up a mixed genre of short stories and poems brimming with passion, love, and humor. The majority of the stories are told from the perspective of her cat, Zoe—a cool cat of perspicacity if ever there was one. Zoe’s stories will make you laugh, cry, and occasionally scratch your head in wonder, while Emily’s stories of fiction and nonfiction mingle humor with a sharp poignancy that you’ll find both heartwarming and entertaining.

My review

Happiness is a Warm Cat is a wonderfully unique book filled with experiences and adventures told through the eyes of Emily Gmitter’s fabulous cat, Zoe, as well as some beautifully written romantic and other fictional pieces and biographical stories about aspects of Emily’s life. There are also some lovely poems and several pictures of Emily’s artwork. All of the creations in this book are filled with vibrancy, colour, and passion.

The stories about Zoe and her adventures are fun filled and interesting. Zoe is typical of a cat and is filled with self importance and quite sure about her status as ‘top dog’. She does all manner of naughty things to ensure that Emily remembers her place in the family structure. Zoe is also big hearted and curious (aren’t all cats?) and likes to meet other animals, including Bella the dog and Burt the writing cat, Bella and Barre the Siamese twins, as well as spending time with her sister, Jaz. Zoe also gets to experience some pain and loss.

As a reader, I thought that experiencing daily life through the eyes of Zoe, was a wonderful way to make sense of everyday trials and tribulations and find the happiness in small things and moments.

A wonderful book for readers who appreciate experiencing the ordinary contentedness of life from a different perspective.

Purchase Happiness is a Warm Cat by Emily Gmitter and Zoe the Fabulous Feline

Amazon US

About Emily Gmitter

Emily lives on the North Shore of Massachusetts. She loves to spend alone-time at the beach, fun-time singing at local karaoke clubs, and the rest of her time engaged in activities with family and friends … when she’s not reading, writing, or painting.